


Feed It to the Wolves

by JunChai



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance is sad, M/M, Mystery, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), but he discovers something sadder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunChai/pseuds/JunChai
Summary: After years away at school, Lance finally returns home to his family’s backwoods home with a burdened heart and the hopes of finding some much-needed comfort and healing. Instead, his return is met with changes that he could have never expected. These oddities only seem to be bad, bad, and worse. . . expect maybe one. And that one could be the change that he needed.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Feed It to the Wolves

“Lance! Uncle Lance!” The small, shrill voices that attacked him as he stepped out of the car were followed only by the equally small bodies of his nieces and nephews as they pinned him back to the car in a group hug typical of a McClain family welcome.

“Hey, I’ll have to leave before I even make it into the house at this rate!” Lance threw his head back in a dramatic groan, playfully pushing at the arms that entrapped him. “C’mon now. Off, off.”

This only seemed to entice the kids to hold tighter in a fit of giggles and shrieks. So, in typical McClain fashion, Lance found himself waddling amidst a bundle of bodies to greet his mother at the door. She smiled at him with the hint of mist around her eyes and gently laid her hands on the shoulders of two of the closest children until they let go and retreated, mumbling something about needing to get “that thing, yeah, that thing” so they could show Uncle Lance.

Lance smiled, watching them run off and then turned and bent to wrap his arms around his mother’s waist. She returned the sentiment with her arms tight around his neck, quietly remarking, “Oh, Dios mío, Lance. How could you have grown so much in only four years?”

“Well, I’m no expert, but I hear that the food in the city is full of these weird chemicals. Maybe I’m mutating or something. Will I be eight feet soon?”

His mother scoffed and whacked him on the side of the head. “What kind of talk is that? I’ll have to make you return home for good.”

“I’m joking, joking, Mamá!” He laughed and she shook her head with an exasperated smile.

She sighed and ruffled the hair on his head. “Ah. . . I missed you, Mijo. Come in and get cleaned up. The rest of the family will be home in a few hours and we have guests for dinner. Your brothers will bring your things in when they get home.”

“Guests? Oh, are the Shirogane’s coming? I haven’t seen them in forever!”

For a moment, his mother looked a bit concerned, lips pinching in some negative emotion, but she shook her head gently with a small smile. “New guests. For you, at least.”

His brows raised in surprise. “Did we get new neighbors?”

“Probably,” She paused to consider it before replying, “. . . about a year or so after you left. They live on the other side of the woods.” With another pause and hands on her hips, she finished, “Okay, that’s enough now. How do you expect to greet guests smelling like you’ve been traveling for hours? On with you!”

“Okay, okay, I’m off.” he defended with a laugh, slipping into the house and around the corner to the bathroom. Quite remarkably, Lance managed to finish his shower and after-shower routine in just under an hour. For reasons that he was aware but reluctant to admit, the pampering that his showers usually consisted of seemed somewhat. . . tedious. Instead, he opted to sit in his towel and stare into the mirror for the few remaining minutes. Somehow, it failed to lift the heavy weight on his heart, but he still felt it necessary to stare. He wouldn’t have recognized the sigh that broke the silence as his own if his lips hadn’t parted slightly, chest hadn’t risen marginally in reflection. This wasn’t like him. That was what was killing him the most.

Lance discarded the towel and pulled on the clothes that his mother had left on the shelf for him. As he closed the bathroom door behind him, he caught the scent of his mother’s cooking and he was glad that he decided to come home despite everything. Lance inhaled deeply, slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and headed outside.

They were nearing winter now and Lance felt it when the slight chill hit him. The sun was low in the sky despite it still being early in the evening. Looking out, he could see the children playing in the fields, tackling and chasing each other.

A small smile played at the corners of his lips. _That’s right_ , he thought. _It will be okay if I’m here._ _It will get better if I’m here._

Lance’s feet took him in the opposite direction of the fields, breaching the line of trees into the woods behind their home. Not far from the border to the woods, stood the treehouse that Lance’s father had built with his oldest brother, Luis. He set a hand on the sturdy wood that extended in support of the house up in the branches, taking in the feeling and the memories.

A rustle in the bushes pulled Lance’s attention from within. His eyes turned toward the sound and his brow furrowed. The trees were still. 

Strange.

If there was no wind. . . a rabbit?

No. . .

He could see it now: a shadow, much larger than a rabbit.

_Uh. . . no,_ Lance thought. _No way. Wolves and deer had never come this close to the edge._

He stilled, eyes locked on that very large shadow. There was a slight movement and then, the shadow was gone. Lance stayed frozen in that spot for what felt like forever.

“Lance!”

“Lance, yo, there you are!”

Marco came running and swept him up in a big hug that had his feet hanging an inch above the ground. Luis had stopped a couple steps behind him with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. When Marco finally put him down, Luis opened his arms up and motioned Lance in for a hug. Who was he to turn down his older brother? Lance willingly slammed into his brother and received the lung-crushing hug that he was due.

“What are you guys doing out here?” Lance questioned. “I was coming back. By the way, did the wolves get bolder while I was away? I mean, this crazy. . .” with the barrage of words, Lance’s arms flew out in dramatic relish toward the bushes.

“Hey, is little bro scared of the woods after so long in the city man’s world?” Luis joked, grabbing him in a headlock and roughing up his hair. Lance struggled for a minute before Luis released him.

“Hope you’re ready, Mijo. We came to get you for dinner. Our guests are already here and they are high class people. I mean, _high class._ Rich, educated, well-dressed, you name it.” Marco chimed in.

“What are ‘high class’ people,” Lance started, throwing air quotes up around the imitation of his brother’s words. “. . . doing here in our little middle of nowhere?”

“They’re with a Korean pharmaceuticals company. Started research in the lab on the other side of the woods.” Luis clarified. “Rich people know how to save where it counts. Cheap rent, you know?”

“Ah. . .” Lance responded, dumbly. “Well, I certainly don’t feel any pressure to impress now.”

“Well, this isn’t a bad thing for you, you know. Get your foot in the door!” Marco commented enthusiastically, throwing an arm around the younger’s shoulders.

Luis laughed and started pushing them forward, back towards the house. “Don’t worry, Lance. They’re nice people. They were quite excited to meet you actually.”

“Good, good. Now tell me something comforting. . .” he replied sarcastically. His brothers laughed, clapping him on the shoulders as they approached the door to the house. Lance eyed the very expensive-looking car that had parked beside his own beat-up truck. Oh. . . he had a bad feeling about this.

Marco opened the door, shouting, “And the prodigal son has returned!” Lance and Luis followed behind and found their way to the dinner table which was already set and surrounded by people. The unknown men and women that sat at his family’s table immediately rose to greet him and Marco’s words totally hit him at that moment. Nice suits, wicked good-looking, and well-mannered. Yeah, these people came from money.

One of the men held out his hand in Lance’s direction with a gentle smile. “Then, you must be the prodigal son. Lance, I assume.”

“Yeah, that’s me. I mean. . . yes, I’m Lance.” he stumbled over his words, holding out his hand to accept the handshake.

“It’s good to meet you, Lance. My name is Lotor. This is Sendak, Zethrid, and Ezor.” The man, Lotor, pointed to each of the guests as he announced their names. “We heard that you’re in school to become a medical researcher so you can imagine that we were quite excited to meet you.”

Lance chuckled a bit awkwardly and motioned for them to sit back down with him. “Yeah. . .”

Mamá helpfully interrupted, “Our Lance is such a dedicated boy! He always enjoyed playing with the microscopes and lab equipment in school. He’s wanted to be a researcher for as long as we can remember. Right, Lance?”

Another chuckle. “Yeah. . .”

The other man, Sendak, spoke up this time, “Maybe he will work with us one day. We’re already neighbors, after all.”

“It would certainly be good to see your face in the lab, Lance.” Lotor added, politely. “How long do you have left in school? Two, three years?”

“Uh. . .” Another chuckle. A scratch behind the ears.

“He should be finished in two.” his father supplied, clapping him on the shoulder and sending a big smile in his direction. “He is a real hard worker, this one. Right, bud?”

Silence.

Lance’s sister, Veronica, laughed from across the table. “Wow, you’re sure shy tonight, Lance!”

“. . . I won’t.” It was quiet, barely audible even.

“What?” his mother questioned, brow furrowing in concern.

“I won’t. . . I won’t graduate.” Lance stated flatly, a bit louder than before, inciting the wide-eyed stares of the guests and his family alike. Then, he stood quietly, pushing his chair back in the process, and walked back out the front door.

When Lance stepped back out onto the porch, the night air seemed considerably colder, though Lance estimated that there was only a difference of a few degrees. He sighed and held his head in despair, breathing in the same cold air that stung his cheeks.

Maybe it was the embarrassment that made it feel so cold.

Releasing his head to slump back in more dramatic misery, he noted that the sky was dark now, lighted only a sprinkle of stars and the surface area of the moon. He missed the stars.

The creak of hinges gone unoiled for years alerted him of the opening of the door. His head lolled back farther to catch a glimpse of Rachel before he decided that such a position was not optimal for his comfort.

“Hey, Little Bro.” she said, moving to stand beside him and bumping him gently in the shoulder. Her expression was sympathetic, maybe a bit worried and unsure.

“Hey.” he replied simply.

She held out her hand to him, brown paper bag crumpled under her fingers. “Mamá says you’re free to skip dinner with the guests, but she won’t allow you to skip dinner. She also said you’re not allowed to worry too much.” Lance took the bag from her.

“Thanks.”

“Hey,” she started again. “You know. . . they love you for who you are, not who you were planning to be.” She gave him a small smile and bumped his shoulder again. “Right?”

He gave her an even smaller smile of gratitude in reply. “I know, Rachel.” Really, he did.

“Take some time and cool off, but don’t stay out too late.” She wrapped her arms around him and then stepped back into the house.

Lance held up the bag and stared at it. Mamá really wasn’t one to let anyone starve. He wondered if she was disappointed. . . She had to be. She had always been so proud that he would be helping to save lives in the future. “It’s such an honorable career,” she would say. “Respectable.”

With his bag of dinner in hand, he headed back out to the treehouse and leaned back up against the trunk of the tree. He unceremoniously pulled apart the top edges of the bag and smiled. It was all of his favorites. “You really spoil me, huh. . .” He closed the bag and was about to set in down when there was a rustle in the bushes and suddenly, he was losing his balance and falling into a pile of leaves and dirt.

“Holy fuck!” he shouted. When he glanced down, his hands were palm-down, pressing into the dirt to support his weight. The bag was gone.

His eyes wandered around, attempting to catch sight of the brown paper. All he managed to catch sight of was a somewhat large silhouette of. . . something.

“Holy fuck. . .” he whispered.

His heart hammered in his chest, but the shadow was already retreating back into the bushes. Normally, Lance would have retreated himself, but there was something insanely peculiar about this whole scenario: a predator snatching his food without hardly grazing him, a predator retreating immediately while another perfectly good meal waits vulnerable, a predator even wandering this close to the edge, and. . . that gait that didn’t seem like any animal Lance had ever seen.

There was a thought that bounced around the back of his mind. Something abouts cats and curiosity. Lance ignored it.

Reaching into the pocket of his coat, his fingers encircled the metal of his pocket knife as he inched forward on his hands and knees. He could see the silhouette of the creature still cradled in the leaves of the bushes, hear the rustle of paper. . .

Then, he saw it.

Hands.

Human hands.

Lance stood with a flourish and practically stomped his way over to the bushes. The _person_ seemed to flinch but didn’t run. Ready to spit some not-very gentlemanly words at the thief, Lance pushed the branches and leaves aside. When his eyes landed on the figure, the words died on his tongue.

The boy was crouched over the bag, shoveling food into his mouth with his hands. He glanced up at Lance from under his lashes and mop of matted hair as Lance approached. His appearance was the definition of disheveled: clothes torn and tattered, covered in dirt.

And he was thin. _Too thin_ , Lance noted as he took in the sight of protruding ribs through the tears in his shirt. Lance estimated his age to be maybe just a bit younger than himself. For some reason, he could no longer justify any sort of anger.

“What is this. . .” he muttered, running a hand through his hair before crouching down so he was eye-to-eye with the boy. “Hey,” he started, pointing to the food. “You hungry? You can have that, but you really should ask, you know. . .”

Silence.

“Are you lost? Where do you live? Do you have a home?” he tried again.

Silence.

“Do you have a family?” As he was voicing the question, he took in the boy’s appearance again and he was reminded of the new neighbors.

“Ah, do you not speak English? I mean, you look like you could be a little Korean. . . I guess.” He sighed. “Why do I not know any Korean?”

Silence.

“Oh!” Lance shouted as he came to another realization and the boy pulled back a little at the enthusiasm. “Japanese? The Shiroganes are Japanese. Do you speak Japanese? Let’s see. . .” he paused, tapping his chin in thought. “こんにちは。” he stated, shaking his hands in front of his face in an explanatory manner. The boy’s head only seemed to tilt slightly. Lance’s lips twisted in disappointment. “Guess not. That’s pretty much the only word I know anyways so don’t feel too bad.”

Lance reached into his pocket again and pulled out a piece of candy, holding it out to the boy who only stared at him in response. “Here,” he said, raising his eyebrows and pushing it further toward the boy in offering. When the boy still didn’t take it, he unwrapped it and brought it towards his own mouth. “It’s candy. Food.”

He held the candy back out to him and watched as the boy took it and slowly, skeptically put it up to his mouth. As he watched the boy eat it, Lance found his brow furrowing in another, more concerning hypothesis. “Amnesia?” he murmured to himself. “I mean, you do seem kind of lacking. . . and homeless. Are you injured?”

The boy looked up at Lance’s words and Lance noted that his eyes were a strange greyish-purple, exotic. Despite the boy’s blank expression and lack of articulation, Lance thought that his eyes seemed to hold something more than abyss. “What?” he protested, slowly extending his hands in the most non-threatening way he could. He gently placed them on the sides of the boy’s head and held as he jumped at the touch. “If you want to say something, you should say it, you know. Don’t just sit there making googly eyes at me. I’ll think you like me or something.” He turned the boy’s head slowly from one side to the other. “I don’t really see any injuries, but. . .” He released his grip. “Well, you’ve probably been out here for a while. It’s still possible.” Lance’s fingers retreated back to his chin to deliberate. “Why don’t---”

“Lance!” the sudden sound of his name had his head whipping around to find Luis headed his way. When he looked back over his shoulder, the boy was gone, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the torn paper bag behind.

**Author's Note:**

> こんにちは (konnichiwa) - hello


End file.
